Undone
by xrocksx
Summary: She undoes me every time she touches me. And yet, that's when she puts me together.
1. Chapter 1

Undone. That's what I am. That's what I am when she touches me. What I am right now. I stop being Jade West. She unbuttons my jeans, but she also undoes my whole being. It's as if that one button is keeping me together. And I brake when she pops it out of the hole. Her hand is inside my jeans. Her middle finger on my most sensitive spot. And I'm writhing and whimpering. My hips are pressing against her hand. Fuck. What does she do to me? I open my eyes. She's looking down at her hand inside my jeans, there's this crazed look in her eyes caused by lust and she's biting down on her lip. That makes me go crazier than I already was. "Cat," I choke out in a ragged breath.

She looks up at me and I crash my lips against hers. We're both breathless. I grab her shoulders and pull her against me as close as possible. She's moaning. I'm moaning. Our sounds become one. I begin to feel myself tremble. I'm so close. Her fingers move faster against me and I almost lose all the strength I have in my legs. She presses harder against me to keep me from falling. She moves her fingers impossibly faster, another flick of her finger and I explode against it. I bang my head on the wall as I arch it back while my body convulses. Her finger remains in the same spot, still now, soaked with me. She holds me up. But I'm undone. She has undone me yet again. There's no Jade when she touches me, no harsh words, no mean looks, no hurt, no slashes. Just a trembling, needy, grunting mess. I'm undone.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes I worry. I look at her and I want to break her, break her before she breaks me. But when she looks at me, when her hand is between my legs, when her tongue is pressing against that special button, all I see in her is kindness. I think that scares me the most. But I know that I don't have to worry about her breaking me, not in the way I fear anyway, I have to worry about her putting me together, making me whole.

I want to hurt her so badly. Cut her with my words. See her tear up and know that I still hold all the power; that _she_ is at _my _mercy. But I find that the words get stuck in my throat and die before I can untangle and spit them out.

Then she touches me. She throws away my shirt, or unbuttons my jeans and I know there's nothing I can do. She has me in a vice grip. That not only can I not escape, but I seem unwilling to. Her grip is the softest thing to ever touch me.

And I hate that she can stand it. I barely touch her. I kiss her to quiet the fire that burns in the pit of my stomach, to keep her name from leaving my lips in anything but a harsh demand. But my hands don't know the curves of her body as hers do mine. I don't know what she looks like shirtless. I don't know what would happen if I unbuttoned her jean shorts and stuck my hand inside them. How can she stand that, how can she stand the burn she feels, the fire I see burning behind her eyes, how can she stand it when she's touching me, when I'm not touching her? How can she stand it for all this time when I can barely function without her hands on me? I know she wants me. I can see it so clearly. I can only imagine I look at her that way. And yet, she never asks, she never tries, she just let's me use her and leave her.

And that's when I think, is there someone else? Does she run to someone else after she's done with me? Is there someone that undoes her the way she undoes me? I shouldn't care. I should be happy that it's not me, that it's not my job. But the thought of someone else touching her, of someone else being inside of her, of someone else tasting her, of someone else breaking her, it fills me with fire. A different kind of fire. A fire that isn't quenched with being touched, but with touching, no, with _hurting _someone else. My heart beats faster and all I see is red. I want to go in search of whoever makes Cat moan their name. It should be my name she says. It should be me she thinks about. Me who she whispers it to. Me who undoes her. Me.

Me. What has she done to me? Why do I care? It was just fucking. Just using her. But it was never really just that was it? From the very first time, she has undone me. She broke me. She took away all that I was and left me weak, trembling. Satisfied. Fulfilled. Whole.

I'm like a puzzle. I feel broken into various piece and yet whole. When she touches me, I'm scared. When she doesn't touch me I have that false sense of control. But then the withdrawals kick in and I'm scared that she won't touch me again. She has me twisted in her fingers, vulnerable, wanting and taking anything she'll give me. I can pretend all I want, that I'm demanding it from her, but she could so easily take it away. What would I be then? This? Jade? Somehow I think Jade without Cat wouldn't be Jade. She puts me together, assembles all the pieces, puts them in the right place. Completes the puzzle. For those seconds when my insides explode, I'm whole. Then she retrieves and I'm into separate pieces again. I'm Jade. I'm me. I'm mean words, hard glares, bad intentions. I'm more me than ever and yet I feel less myself than ever.


	3. Chapter 3

"But you don't leave me," she says after I confront her.

My scowl deepens. I don't know what the hell she's talking about. She sees the confusion in my face because she clarifies. "You always come back," she says.

I open my mouth to throw words at her, but like always they die before reaching my lips. She's right. I always come back. I never really leave her. In reality, she's the one that leaves me. She never comes to me. I'm always the one to seek her out. I feel my throat tighten at the realization. I feel like she has gripped my trachea and is squeezing it. And she has. She has a leash on me. And it's so short.

I swallow my bitter saliva and almost choke on it. I let out a quiet breath so she doesn't notice. I feel my anger rising. I hate the look she has on her face. It's so passive, so calm. I'm angry. I'm angry because that face doesn't tell me anything. I shouldn't care. But I can't deny it anymore. I'm angry because I can't read her face, her _feelings_. Because all I see is kindness and nothing more. I let out another breath. I feel like I'm drowning. Like I'm breaking. The room could be spinning now. She looks at me with more seriousness. I must look like I want to barf. I sure feel like it. I lunge myself at her and do the only thing I can do, the only thing I _know_ how to do. I kiss her. I kiss her hard and push her against the wall. She doesn't fight it. In fact, she kisses me back, just as hard. She knows what to do so well. She should, she's done it dozens of times. She's slipping her hands inside my shirt. Touching me. I can feel my skin heating up. My center starting to throb. And for the first time, I so badly don't want it to. But I don't stop her. I let her take off my shirt. I let her turn us around and press me against the wall. She's so good at this. At pleasuring me. She undoes my jeans. My breath hitches. Not from need, not from anticipation. She's undoing me. Again. But she's doing more now. I feel a shift. A shift inside me. Inside my heart. She pulls down my jeans and lands on her knees. She pulls down my underwear. Down to business. I'm already wet. She leans in and her first lick is soft, teasing. And I feel it all the way to my core. It feels so good yet so bad. My body is reacting. My back is arching. My body is asking, screaming for more. But only my body is. She leans in again and presses her tongue flat against me. I can't help but grip her hair with my hand. "Fuck," utters out of my mouth.

I let her. I let her until I'm coming against her face yet again. And that's when I break. When all her touching has reached so deep it plucked something vital. Something I needed that I may no longer have. And I cry. Silently. I fight it. I fight it so hard. I lose. Tears start pouring out and soon pathetic sounds are escaping my mouth. She's quickly on her feet asking me if I'm okay, if she hurt me. I want to scream in her face. But I'm scared I'll only break more. So I crumble. I barely manage to pull up my panties and jeans before I'm a heap on the floor. She's soon kneeling in front of me. I don't need to look at her face to know that she's worried. Concerned. She doesn't know what to do. I feel her hands hovering over me, unsure if they should touch me. I suppose if I saw Cat using a pair of scissors to threaten or cut someone I wouldn't know what to do either. I try to get up and stumble. "Jade," she says, voice dripping with worry.

A broken toy. How ironic. I was the toy after all. And I was playing myself this whole time. I open my mouth, to do what, I don't know. But I close it. Because there's only one thing that wants to come out of my mouth. And I can't say that. "Jade," she repeats.

I take pleasure in the fact that she must feel stupid and useless, unable to figure out what's wrong with me or how to fix it. She stutters. Finally she asks, "Did I do something wrong?"

I want to say yes. But my mouth is still sealed. That's not what will come out if I open it. "Was it what I said?" she asks.

Yes! Finally part of me functions. I nod. "I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean anything by it. I'll stop if you want."

What? I shake my head. That's my first response. My first instinct. I couldn't imagine her not touching me. But that was before. Now, I'm not sure I want it. "No?" she repeats my denial.

"I-" she starts.

I finally open my eyes. She's looking down at the floor. She looks troubled. She looks up and I almost jump, startled. Her eyes are fierce. I've never seen them like this. Where has she been hiding that? She kisses me. I wasn't expecting that. I also wasn't expecting myself to respond. But I am. I'm kissing her back. I guess it's hard to break the habit. "I've been waiting," she says between kisses. "For so long," more kisses. "I almost thought I wouldn't make it."

There's a small smile on her face as she kisses me again. I don't know what she's talking about. Reluctantly, damn it, I pull back. "What?" I ask her.

"For you. For this," she says.

She must see my confusion again because her own face contorts with it. "You love me," she says, no, she asks.

She's not sure. I feel taken aback again. How does she know? I've only figured it out a few minutes ago. Was the revelation so obvious? I shake my head. Somehow having gained some of my senses. But she sees something in my eyes, my face. Because she seems more sure now. And she's right. I won't open my mouth because I'll agree. I'll tell her she's right. Her eyebrows scrunch and she takes off her shirt. My eyes travel down her body on their own accord. It takes me more than I'd like for my eyes to travel back to her face. She's looking at me fiercely again. She's not asking anymore. She's daring me. My hands are burning. They want to touch her so badly. To undo that button. But I have to know. I have to. "Why?" is all I manage.

She's unsure of what I mean. I think I am too. She searches my face. Reads all the questions there. She seems so good at that. Yet another thing she does so well with me. "I can see it in your eyes. The fear. The love. You think you're good at hiding it. And you are, but only to yourself."

I swallow. Does everyone else know? Then she adds, "I was waiting for you to see it. You had to on your own. If I'd tried. If I'd tried you would have ran away. I didn't want to scare you."

"You always came back," she smiles this time. "I always knew you would. I always waited."

My heart is beating fast. She has undone me. This time not with touches or unbuttoned jeans. But she has undone me all the same. I smile. She turned all the pieces of the puzzle over, she took her time, putting them together, fitting them. And she finished it. Whole. She smiles. She has undone me onto a whole piece. I lean forward and kiss her. I unbutton her shorts and stick my hand inside. It's my turn to return the favor.


End file.
